Source of Infection
by Wends
Summary: Tripe[run!] Trowa gets Quatre the 'greatest gift in the world' to prove his undying devotion. [TQ, light DH. Rated for the last sentence and its suggestive content. Warning author nearly barfed while writing this thing]


Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam W. Hell, I don't own this fic! Yeah!

The basis behind a 'tripe fic' is to create the most terrible fic possible. And it's not in regard to grammar or spelling (people have to be able to read the terror you're putting them through, and the easier you make it on their bleeding eyes the better), but rather in shear vile content. There was once a contest for these putrid fics. This one didn't win anything, but it's still a wonderfully rotten bit of gut-wrenching goo.

(backs away from the terror) Worst love song from one partner to another... "Source of Infection" by Van Halen. (sniffles) Forgive me, Van Halen... I normally love y'all, but this lousy excuse for a love song just plain sucked... (covers her ears whimpering)

_-BEGIN THE HORROR-_

Sitting on the couch in their multi-story, multi-billion-dollar spread called 'home', Quatre and Trowa were merrily pressing their lips together, a hot and heavy game of tonsil hockey underway. Sucking merrily on each other's tongues, they moaned their collective happiness into one another's mouths as their arms more firmly pulled upon their partner's body.

Breaking off the kiss, they looked into one another's eyes. A collective 'awwww!' broke from the viewing audience as sparkles flickered between them and their gigantic chibi-esque eyes focused on nothing more than one another.

"I love you with all my heart and soul, my precious dear shnooky-wooky," Quatre cooed softly, his feminine voice a soft sigh upon the heavy air of the enormous bedroom who's size dwindled most two-story homes.

"And I love you from now unto eternity, my precious little Kitty-Quat, my dearest sweety-poo. You are my angel sent from heaven itself, Adonis descended to bless my life with happiness and euphoric joy."

"I love you so much when you say that!" Quatre whimpered, huge tears sparkling in huge, shimmering eyes.

Trowa sniffed right back, nodding. "And you know that these words alone can't even begin to convey how much I truly do love you, don't you?"

"Oh Trowa!"

"Oh Quatre!"

And they lobbed their arms around one another, burying their faces against one another, crying as the wave of their love crashed over them like a tsunami - or, more appropriately, it rolled over them like warmed-over tree sap unleashed from a maple forest by chain saws.

"My Valentine's day can't get any better than this, Trowa," Quatre simpered softly into his shirt, holding tightly onto it as he wiped his joy-drawn tears from his large leaky eyes. "Just having you here in my life holding me like this is more than enough."

"But Quatre," Trowa began, his eyes shaky as he looked at the small blonde in his arms, "you've gifted me with so much joy and happiness, and this beautiful manor to call our own, that I must do something for you. We can do this every day of the rest of our lives, my wonderful little one, but let me do something today to make this moment a memory that will last forever."

"Trowa!" Quatre blushed, staring at him.

"Quatre," Trowa softly whispered, a smile touching his lips.

"Trowa...!" Quatre sniffed, his eyes getting shimmery with tears once more.

"Quatre..." Trowa cooed, tightening his grip around his body.

"Trowa...!" Quatre cried, burying his face against Trowa's chest once more.

"Quatre..." Trowa sighed, petting his soft blonde hair.

"What'cha gonna do for me?" Quatre chirped, suddenly breaking the chain.

Smiling, Trowa slowly pried the boy's fingers out of the folds of his shirt and rose from the bed. Patting his head once more, he chuckled. "I'm going to sing you a little song."

"A song? All for me?"

"I know what a music lover you are. And so, I thought the best way to thank you for all the joy you've brought me would be to give you a song you can treasure all for yourself."

Beaming, Quatre folded his legs underneath himself, sitting primly on the edge of the bed.

Walking to the door of their bedroom, Trowa opened it and nodded. "Come on in, guys."

Quatre stared in almost feared fascination as a rock band rolled in, quickly and efficiently setting up their drum sets, their amplifiers and their electric guitars and bass guitar in naught but a few seconds.

Walking to the head of the quickly established rock band, Trowa lifted the microphone from its stand. "Quatre, my dearest little cutie-pie and most precious jewel, please accept this work of my heart, the congealing of the words my soul utters every time you touch my life with your sumptuous smile. I love you more than anything in this universe, my glorious tenshi, o' holder of my soul and life, most beautiful creature ever created by the Gods who outshines the glories of Mr. Universe on any given day!"

Quatre stared as the guitarist suddenly ripped a rapid roll of notes from his instrument, and the drums and the bass soon burst into being with it.

Strutting before them, Trowa clenched his fist and thrust it into the air before screaming, completely off key,

_/Hey!  
Alright!  
Woo! How'bout'cha now,  
Come on!  
Oh yeah!  
Dig it!  
That's right.  
Is everybody ready?  
Let's go/_

Quatre blinked a few times, internally cringing as his lover bellowed at the top of his lungs, only to be shortly met by the other men who manned the instruments as Trowa ripped his shirt of and whirled it in circles above his head.

_/Up and down, around and 'round  
In and out  
Crank it, blow out  
Ouch  
Help me  
Flip on over  
Oh baby, you know what I like/_

Trowa swung his hips as he strutted up to Quatre, his lips pursed as he strutted right up to the bed and dry-humped his leg.

Quatre flushed furiously, even as the backups began to belt out the next lines, to be joined by the emerald-eyed, uni-banged boy once again.

_/He choked the chain, he got the hook  
Can't get away  
Fever starts to climb, reaching 105  
I need another shot of your love/_

For emphasis, Trowa whipped a hypothermic needle out of his pants and twirled it between his fingers before depositing it onto the bed and bounding away, his feet shuffling with manic speed as he danced his way back over to the band, bouncing along with the excessively rapid pace of the music and the constant clanging of the top hat of the drums.

Leaning back, Trowa belted out as highly pitched as he could possibly manage.

_/Love, love is the source  
Love, love is the source of infection/_

Turning to the guitarist, Trowa winked.

_/Hey Eddie/_

The guitarist ran his fingers along the strings, making the instrument squeal to reply.

_/Say what/_

Repeating his gesture, the guitarist grinned.

Quatre just tried to salvage what was left of his hearing.

_/That's what I'm talkin' about  
Wax it down now/_

More dancing of the fingers over the strings as Trowa swung his hips from side to side, strutting behind the guitarist, apparently preparing for him to do a solo.

_/Ready, set, go/_

The glass windows shattered as Trowa's high-pitched scream of the word 'go' roared from his lungs with all the mercy of a category 5 hurricane. Seemingly impervious to the effects, the rock band continued going (Quatre at this point assumed they were all deaf from years of being subjected to their own music at excruciating volumes) with the guitarist going into a crazed, hyper series of screeched chords and wild crescendos along the strings of his worn instrument.

_/Love, love is the source  
Love, love is the source  
Love, love, love, love is the source  
Love, love is the source/_

As Trowa continued to belt out his song, Quatre slipped out as quickly as he could.

Three hours later, as the uni-banged wonder still jammed, Quatre was burying his sorrow in a cup of Java with Duo at the Starbucks down the street.

"Everything was going so beautifully with my precious shnooky-wooky till he decided to sing."

"Oh no," Duo groaned, looking at him sadly. "What did he do?"

"Source of Infection. I think it's an old Van Halen piece he redid to prove his love to me."

Laughing, the braided boy shook his head. "At least it was better than Hee-chan's gift."

"Which was?"

"Screwing to 'Black and Blue.'"

_-end-_

_(barfs in a nearby trash can) Thank God... (shakily crawls away)_


End file.
